


Once

by RicochetRomance



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Chubby Anakin, Chubby Kink, Crack, Dessert & Sweets, Humor, M/M, Rated to be Safe, Repressed Obi-Wan, Weight Gain, obikin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 02:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15329346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RicochetRomance/pseuds/RicochetRomance
Summary: Anakin is plotting, Obi-Wan is oblivious, and the Jedi Council has no common sense. Oh look, we're back to standard operating procedure.Please note that this is weight gain fanfiction - reader discretion is advised.





	Once

**Author's Note:**

> Another happy ending AU that these two dorks totally deserve.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan pointedly cleared his throat. "When was the last time that you stopped eating?"

The younger man was two-thirds of the way through what had to be his sixth chocolate bar of the afternoon, and to say that his former master was growing uncomfortable would be a definite understatement. The older man felt a desperate need to either meditate, or shower, or both. Preferably both.

Anakin looked confused. "What?" His voice was muffled by another mouthful of chocolate. 

Judging by the gold lettering on the matte wrapper, it was 70% cocoa, had a filling of strawberry jam, and was incredibly expensive. Was this decadent nonsense really how his former padawan chose to waste his limited expense allotment? Something about it just didn't sit right with Obi-Wan - last he'd checked, Anakin needed regular reminders not to eat food off the kriffing floor. 

The older man gestured to the pile of identical crumpled wrappers on the adjacent sofa cushion, and attempted to clarify his line of questioning. "Surely you're not still hungry?"

Crumpling up this latest wrapper, the Chosen One gave his stomach a contented pat before he replied. "Guess not. I did have a pretty big lunch."

"Then why -" Obi-Wan cut himself off with a sigh of exasperation. "Or do I even want to know?"

The two men were supposed to be catching up on paperwork this afternoon, but Anakin had spent the majority of the time staring unproductively at a single datapad while eating chocolate. Frankly, the older man hadn't gotten much work done either - he'd spent the majority of the time staring unproductively at Anakin while trying to control his inappropriate desires. 

Such as his desire to feed the younger man squares of that chocolate by hand, or his desire to lick the traces of that chocolate from the younger man's lips, or his desire to run his hands over the younger man's belly and feel just how achingly stuffed -

Forcibly snapping himself out of these vivid fantasies, Obi-Wan realized that he'd just missed his former padawan's (undoubtedly sarcastic) reply.

Unwrapping another chocolate bar, Anakin didn't seem to have noticed his former master's lapse of attention. "Besides," he continued flippantly. "It's just this once." With that, the Chosen One took a large, sloppy bite, and the aforementioned jam filling smeared temptingly across his lips.

"If you say so," the older man replied absently, already losing himself in the spectacle. His former padawan had always been distracting, but THIS was an entirely new level of temptation.

Gluttony was technically a violation of the Jedi code - but it was a minor, indirect violation. Just this once, it couldn't hurt.

-

Once inevitably became twice. Twice became five times. And five times became an entire month of constant overeating. 

Obi-Wan could have sworn that Anakin was deliberately trying to drive him insane. Could have, except for the fact that it was abundantly clear that the younger man was overeating even when his former master WASN'T around. 

There were stacks of dishes in the sink, the trash cans were practically overflowing with snack wrappers, and they kept on running out of hot water. Well, that last one may have been Obi-Wan's fault - he hadn't needed to shower this frequently since the early days of his own knighthood.

The Chosen One's stomach seemed to have become a bottomless pit. His metabolism, however, still seemed to have its limits. 

For all the perverse pleasure the older man derived from watching his former padawan eat, it hadn't really occurred to Obi-Wan that the younger man was gaining weight. That is, until this morning.

"Obi-Wan!" Anakin's voice called down the hallway. "Can I borrow one of your belts?" The younger man's question was alarmingly innocuous. 

"What do you need it for?" The older man inquired cautiously, voice just loud enough to carry from the kitchen through to Anakin's room. When it came to his former padawan, it was never safe to assume the obvious.

"None of mine will fit!" The younger man called back, clearly frustrated. 

The older man rolled his eyes. "In case you'd forgotten," he retorted irately, "we wear exactly the same size!" And he would appreciate that Anakin not imply otherwise. 

"Kriff it!" The younger man swore with frustration. A closet door slammed loudly, and there was a brief rustling of plastic packaging. 

A few moments later Anakin entered the kitchen, but he was in a far calmer state than Obi-Wan had expected. This shift in demeanour may have had something to do with the massive bag of popcorn in the younger man's hand - another strangely expensive-looking indulgence that apparently included salted caramel and mixed nuts.

Though the older man spared the stylized packaging a cursory glance, his attention was promptly drawn to Anakin's midsection, where the fabric of the unbelted tunic was stretched tightly across the swell of the younger man's belly. 

"Frankly, it doesn't look like you need a belt." Obi-Wan observed dryly. 

Wait, since when exactly had his former padawan had a belly? The older man paused to take a proper look at the younger man's body - a body that was definitely beginning to go soft. Belly aside, excess weight had also piled on to Anakin's hips and thighs, making his silhouette vaguely pear-shaped. 

It was frankly a miracle that the younger man had been able to fit into his preferred leggings, and even though he had, the leather was so skin-tight that it may as well have been painted on. Kriff, what Obi-Wan wouldn't give to peel those leggings off of him and suffocate in those thighs. 

In the time it took for the older man to snap himself out of another vivid, inappropriate fantasy, Anakin had started cooking. The younger man was mixing a bowl of thick, creamy pancake batter with his left hand - it was banana-pineapple batter, a recipe that Obi-Wan vaguely recognized as Master Fisto's. Meanwhile, his right hand was methodically bringing handful after handful of popcorn to his greedy mouth. 

Anakin was so hungry and impatient that he was actually eating while he was cooking.

The sight was undeniably tempting, but if Obi-Wan was to be perfectly frank, it was also somewhat worrying. "Force, Anakin. What's possessing you to eat like this?"

"Already told you like five times," the younger man managed to sound exasperated, even with his mouth full. "I don't know. My appetite's just crazy lately." 

There was something insincere about his claim of ignorance, but his former master didn't notice - no, Obi-Wan was far too busy having a minor internalized panic attack. 

Five times? His former padawan had apparently brought this to his attention five times in the past month, and he'd been too distracted by his perverse fantasies to even process the information, never mind to act on it appropriately. And action was definitely required. If Anakin's behaviour was involuntary, it could be a sign of trauma, or illness, or worse.

"Have you considered visiting the Halls of Healing?" Obi-Wan asked, pretending that he didn't find the idea vaguely distasteful. The idea of a Healer touching Anakin's soft stomach, pinching Anakin's soft sides, grabbing handfuls of Anakin's soft ass -

It wasn't that he was jealous. It was just that he was jealous. 

As the older man snapped himself out of yet another detailed, arousing fantasy, he realized that not only had Anakin finished making the pancakes, he'd nearly finished eating them as well. Or rather, stuffing himself with them. 

The younger man was groaning around each mouthful, his cybernetic hand rubbing his bloated belly. Anakin was literally so full that it hurt, and yet he was still forcing himself to eat. 

This was clearly a sign of trauma, or illness, or worse. 

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose, thoroughly exasperated. "That's quite enough. You ARE visiting the Halls of Healing." 

-

The two men sat together in one of the curtained examination areas in the Halls of Healing, but their demeanours couldn't possibly have been more different. 

Obi-Wan sat with his arms folded across his chest, his posture tense, the barest hint of worry creeping into his carefully controlled Force signature. In contrast, Anakin was sprawled uncaringly across the adjacent seat, finishing off the last of the popcorn that he'd been eating all morning. 

"What in Grandmaster Yoda's name could possibly be taking this long?" The older man seemed uncharacteristically impatient. Uncharacteristically, that is, if one failed to account for exactly whose wellbeing was in question. 

As if on cue, the droid that had performed the initial examination returned to report the results of its scans. 

"In the 27 days since their last physical analysis," the droid droned, "the patient's weight has increased by 17.4 pounds. Approximately 94% of this increase is lipid matter. The patient's midichlorian count has also increased by 237%."

It was unusual and potentially worrying data, but Anakin seemed largely unphased, emptying the last dregs of the popcorn into his upturned palm and literally licking the crumbs from his fingertips.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, cut straight to the point. "And what exactly is the cause?" He demanded impatiently. 

The droid responded with four words that were as reassuring as they were infuriating. "No relevant medical data." Then, displaying uncanny intuition, the medical droid promptly fled the examination area as the older man rounded on his former padawan. 

"Well then," Obi-Wan snapped irately. For Force's sakes, he'd actually been worried about the younger man. "This clearly isn't a medical issue - just another example of your appalling lack of discipline."

"Lack of discipline?" Anakin retorted indignantly, though the vehemence of it was undermined by the fact that he was currently speaking through a large mouthful of chocolate. Apparently, he had been keeping a supply of snacks in his pockets.

"This can't continue," Obi-Wan mustered his most thoroughly disapproving tone. "If you want to remain a Jedi, you must control yourself." 

And as a Jedi, he should never have lost control in the first place. This definitely couldn't continue - at this rate, Anakin would be huge within months.

The thought of it was undeniably appealing, and the older man could practically envision it - his former padawan, Jedi concerns all but abandoned, piling on more weight by the day as he indulged himself in every type of sweet known to humankind.

The younger man's robes would have long since ceased to fasten, spread open to reveal his gorgeously soft form. The younger man's stomach would be achingly full, and he would be massaging it soothingly even as he reached for another sweet with his greedy, sugar-stained fingertips. 

Master Kenobi grit his teeth with frustration - he was fantasizing again. 

Anakin's petulant voice drew the older man back to the present. "Can I at least finish this?" The younger man pouted, gesturing to his half-eaten chocolate bar. 

"Fine." His former master sighed. He supposed that it wouldn't hurt for Anakin to have one final indulgence before his strictly regimented diet began. 

"Just this once." 

-

Once inevitably became twice. Twice became five times. And five times became another month of constant overeating. 

The Chosen One was growing soft, and with that, he was growing lazy. At present, Anakin was lounging across the sofa, with his feet propped against the armrest and a datapad balanced on his knees.

As usual, he was eating. 

This time his indulgence of choice was homemade gingerbread sandwich cookies with peanut butter filling. Obi-Wan was fairly certain that they were one of Master Mundi's recipes. 

"Have you moved at all today?" The older man inquired sarcastically, arching a disapproving eyebrow. 

The younger man's response lacked any sarcasm whatsoever. "Don't need to," he shrugged. 

Drawing on the Force, Anakin gestured to the kitchen countertop, which was piled high with sugary sweets just waiting to be devoured. Several bags of candy levitated free from the pile, and floated across the living space to settle on the coffee table beside him.

Stunned silent by such flagrant disrespect for the Force, Obi-Wan took a long moment to consider his former padawan. Everything about the younger man, from his posture to his smirk to his Force signature, radiated smug contentment. 

His tunic, already a considerably larger size than his usual attire, clung to the soft curves of his shoulders and chest. It was pulled taut over his generous belly, the bulk of which had settled comfortably in Anakin's lap. His impossibly thick thighs were clad in poorly-fitted breeches rather than his usual leggings, and a few stray crumbs dusted the front of his garments.

In that moment, the younger man was the very antithesis of a disciplined Jedi, and it was clear that he was enjoying himself immensely. 

"This can't continue," Obi-Wan observed, repeating his statement from nearly a month prior. 

This time, however, the older man's tone was considerably less stern. His self-control had long since been worn thin by the sheer temptation of his former padawan's soft body. This couldn't continue, but Force, did he ever wish it could. 

There was a question on the older man's mind, and against his better judgement, he asked it. "Do you have any idea how much you weigh?"

"I'm up by 32.5 pounds, and 97% of it is fat." The younger man replied, his tone decidedly unashamed. "My midichlorians are up 572% as well." 

Obi-Wan wasn't sure what he'd expected, but that answer certainly wasn't it. "Do you mean to tell me that you've been keeping track?" He asked incredulously. 

"Not exactly," Anakin explained. "Master Windu sent me down to the Healers the other day - he wanted the numbers." 

In the moment, it didn't occur to Master Kenobi that there was no way in the Sith Hells that his fellow Master would have been nearly that lenient. The Mace that Obi-Wan knew would have run the younger man through a training course so unrelentingly brutal that he'd never have considered overindulging again for the rest of his natural life. 

Speaking of the numbers. "Could you repeat that last one?" The older man was certain that he'd misheard. 

"572%." Anakin obliged. 

The younger man's tone was nonchalant. His former master's response was anything but. "How is that possible?" Obi-Wan demanded incredulously.

"The medical droid still didn't have a clue." It was practically possible to hear the younger man rolling his eyes. 

The older man exhaled with frustration. "Because it's a DROID, Anakin. A situation like this requires the input of a trained Healer."

Obi-Wan was rapidly re-evaluating his stance on his former padawan's lack of discipline. A change this drastic could only logically be attributed to trauma, or illness, or worse.

"I need to meditate on this." The older man declared at last. His thoughts were a mess of concerned hypotheses and graphic fantasies, a far cry from the serenity one would expect from the mind of the Perfect Jedi. 

Anakin merely shrugged, redirecting his attention to the manipulation of the Force. A slice of a truly decadent chocolate cake - layered thickly with chocolate cream, laced with chocolate chips, and smothered with chocolate icing - levitated to the Chosen One's lips. 

Obi-Wan could have sworn that it was Master Koth's most coveted recipe, which begged the question of how Anakin had acquired it. 

Then, all logical thought ceased to matter as his former padawan took a bite of the cake without so much as moving a muscle, and literally moaned with pleasure at the taste. It was the epitome of sloth, the epitome of gluttony, and possibly the hottest thing that the older man had ever witnessed. 

Scratch that earlier statement. His meditation could wait until he'd suffered through a long, thorough shower.

-

Meditation had always come easily and naturally to Master Kenobi - it calmed his emotions, stilled his mind, and centered his body. Even on those rare occasions when he experienced visions, it was clear that they were merely the well-intentioned guidance of the Force.

These visions, however, were far from well-intentioned. He could barely comprehend what the Force was showing him, and frankly, he wasn't sure that he wanted to.

It began with auditory hallucinations of events past, snippets of conversation involving voices that he recognized as many of his fellow Jedi Masters. All were speaking directly to his former padawan - advising him. Their advice, however, was deeply disturbing. 

Master Nu's voice drifted to the forefront, her tone lecturing but kind. "Take these. They're much better than anything you'll find at those wretched corner stores."

"Aren't these expensive?" The young man sounded concerned, but presumably accepted whatever he'd been offered.

"Of course, dear. The ladies at the knitting circle all pulled together to help pay for them. This is your future, Anakin - fast and cheap simply won't do." 

Jocasta's voice faded into the background, and Master Ti's promptly took its place. "My younger sister swore by this cream during her pregnancy." She confided. "It works wonders on stretch marks."

"Do I LOOK pregnant to you?" Anakin demanded. His tone bristled with defensive annoyance. 

"You're getting there," Master Ti observed wryly. Her amused laughter faded back into the buzz of indistinct voices, and a new voice became clear. 

"Modify the recipes as you see fit," Master Plo advised. "It will help speed the process." 

"Modify how?" Anakin seemed confused. Unsurprising, he'd never been much of a cook.

"Simple substitutions to start." Plo Koon recommended, displaying unexpected insight into the art of cooking - most Kel Dor lived off of ammonia alone. "Whole milk will serve the same purpose as skimmed, but far more efficiently."

The next snippet of conversation began with Anakin's own voice. It sounded vaguely worried. "And the midichlorian thing?" 

"Is completely natural." Master Unduli replied reassuringly. "They will multiply as your potential Force energy increases." Her tone shifted, becoming disapproving. "We covered midichlorian theory in your biology classes. I had hoped that the future of the Jedi Order was paying attention." 

Anakin's doubtlessly flustered reply was lost as the conversation faded into the background to join the others. 

One final voice emerged, and it was perhaps the most surprising of all. "For the record," Master Windu sounded distinctly unimpressed. "I disapprove. However, I will not argue with the will of the Force." 

"So, you admit that I'm -" 

Anakin's gloating was abruptly cut off by Mace's exasperated sigh. "Just eat the damn cake, Skywalker."

As this last conversation faded into the background, the chorus of muddled voices began to merge together, to become a single repetitive sound - the sound of a wooden cane, tapping steadily across a tiled floor. It seemed that the Force had one final vision for Master Kenobi. 

This time, the hallucination was visual. Anakin was seated on a low cushion in the dimly lit Temple meditation chambers. Master Yoda entered the room, his cane tapping across the tiles. 

The aged creature circled the Chosen One, eyeing him thoughtfully. He prodded the younger man's soft stomach with the tip of his cane - once, twice, a third time - and chuckled approvingly as it jiggled. 

"Soon," Yoda concluded, "forced to act, he will be."

With that, the vision ended, and Obi-Wan found himself abruptly jarred from his meditative state. Uttering a groan of sheer frustration, the older man began to stretch the stiffness from his spine.

Meditation had always come easily and naturally to Master Kenobi, but that hadn't been meditation. It had been a waking nightmare. If anything, his mind was more unsettled now than it had been when he had first entered his trance. 

The Force had made one thing abundantly clear. Nearly every other Master in the Jedi temple had been aware of Anakin's actions. Most had been encouraging the younger man's behaviour, and a few had even been actively aiding in his quest to drive Obi-Wan completely and utterly insane with desire. 

If this was an elaborate practical joke, it was in extremely poor taste. 

-

"If this has all been some sort of practical joke -" 

Obi-Wan cut himself off. He had no further words, only emotions. Emotions that encompassed the entire spectrum of frustration, resentment, and betrayal. Emotions unsuitable for any Jedi, never mind for a Jedi who had attained the lofty rank of Master.

Anakin winced at the sheer magnitude of the distress that radiated through his former master's typically controlled Force signature. He hadn't expected Obi-Wan to take the revelation even half this poorly.

The younger man rose from the sofa, schooling his features into his guiltiest, most apologetic pout. "It wasn't a joke, Master. It was a plan." 

"You mean to tell me that you planned this?" The older man demanded, his tone simmering with ire. 

"No. Well, not entirely," Anakin clarified hastily. "The Council voted on it, too." 

His former master was staring at him in stunned silence, so the younger man forged ahead with his explanation. "They needed a way to get you to admit your feelings." 

Specifically, Obi-Wan's romantic feelings for the Chosen One. Feelings that had been clear since the early days of his former padawan's knighthood. Feelings that the Perfect Jedi had simply been too perfect to admit - never mind to act upon.

The younger man transitioned into an uncannily accurate impression of Master Yoda. "If to fall, the Dark Side is, united, the two of you must be." 

"So," Anakin concluded, his tone genuinely hopeful but falsely innocent. "Did it work?" 

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose with exasperation. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously controlled. "Did it never occur to you - to ANY of you - to simply tell me?" 

The older man continued, voice rising in volume. "The amount of food you've wasted, the amount of weight you've gained, the amount of grief that you've caused me -"

Obi-Wan sighed deeply, releasing his frustration into the Force. "Honestly, Anakin. You of all people should have known better." 

"So, it didn't work," his former padawan deduced, his tone defeated. His shoulders slumped, and that guilty, apologetic pout became considerably guiltier. 

"Of course it worked!" Obi-Wan exclaimed incredulously. Was the younger man truly that dense? 

Kriff it, the time for subtlety was long since over. Striding forward, the older man pulled Anakin into a kiss - a deep, passionate kiss that expressed months of frustration and need. 

Traces of that decadent chocolate cake still lingered in the younger man's mouth, and this time it was Obi-Wan who moaned with pleasure at the taste. The bond between them went blank, the nuanced connection overwhelmed by sheer desire. 

As the two men finally broke the kiss, the younger man smirked against his former master's lips. It was about kriffing time.

Another kiss, and then another, each deeper and more intimate than the last. And yet, it was obvious that Obi-Wan was holding back. His hands were held deliberately still, and rested innocuously on the younger man's shoulders. For all that he'd spent months lost in his perverse fantasies, Obi-Wan simply couldn't bring himself to make them a reality. 

Then, Anakin took the older man's hands in his own, guiding them to rest on the curve of his belly. "Just touch me already," the younger man urged, his tone mildly exasperated.

"Are you quite sure?" His former master inquired. It was one last moment of hesitation, one last futile attempt to cling to the strictures of the Jedi Code.

"All of this is for you." His former padawan insisted firmly. And it truly was - he'd done this for Obi-Wan, reshaping his formerly toned body into something decadent and soft. It had been a drastic process, but the results were as enjoyable as they were worthwhile. 

Thus prompted, the older man began to explore Anakin's body, feeling his hands sink into that soft flesh, feeling just how much of it he could pinch and grasp. Before this was over, Obi-Wan intended to explore every gorgeous inch of the younger man's body. 

His former padawan's belly was stuffed full from an afternoon of indulgence, and felt surprisingly solid beneath his fingertips. He pinched playfully at a pair of generous love handles, and the younger man squirmed with amusement. However, before Anakin could begin to laugh in earnest, Obi-Wan's hands moved to the younger man's ass, grasping handfuls of it as he pulled their bodies closer together. 

Seizing the opportunity, Anakin yanked his former master down onto the sofa without even breaking their kiss – savoring the older man's sound of surprise as he unexpectedly found himself straddling the younger man's comfortable lap.

The passion between them was intensifying, and rational thought was fading fast as Anakin begun to unfasten his robes, baring the soft expanse of his tan skin. However, there was one last thought that occurred to Obi-Wan, one last question that he simply had to ask. "You are going to be losing this weight, aren't you?"

"And why would I do a thing like that?" The younger man's smirking reply was everything that his former master had secretly wanted to hear. 

This could continue. This would continue. And the Dark Side wouldn't even know what hit it.

**Author's Note:**

> I've got plans for some chubby Obi-Wan in my next fic. Prompts are appreciated, though I can't make promises. 
> 
> Would love to hear your feedback on my work so far!


End file.
